


Strictly Professional

by gallifreyburning



Series: Time Lord Disaster Boyfriends [2]
Category: Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Disaster boyfriends, M/M, like a slow motion car wreck you can't look away from honestly, these absolute morons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-24 00:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20017438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyburning/pseuds/gallifreyburning
Summary: A few Narvin/Andred!Torvald scenes, prompted by askbox fic on tumblr.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt - "Kisses to distract someone from working"  
> Set one week after Andred's regeneration

“That _alien_ ,” Narvin says, a peculiar twist to the word, as he strolls through this isolated section of the CIA’s data archive. “The one married to the chancellery guardsman you had the incident with, in the Catacombs.”

The back of Andred’s neck goes ice cold and he stumbles, but manages to recover his footing before the Coordinator turns to look at him. _The chancellery guardsman Torvald was supposed to have killed in the Catacombs, but who actually killed him and took over his life last week_ , he thinks bleakly, straining to keep his face neutral. “The human woman?”

“Can’t remember the name. Lita? Lesha? We should keep a sharp eye on her. Can’t afford to have her making a public fuss, now that Andred’s Castellan has convinced the President’s office to officially acknowledge his disappearance.” Another peculiar twist to that last word, a knowing incline of Narvin's head to the man he thinks of as Torvald. “Aliens are always stirring up trouble. I expect this one will be no different.”

“You’re proposing surveillance?” Andred says, surprised at his even tone. He can’t decide which would be a bigger disaster: Narvin assigning Leela’s surveillance to another agent, or putting it on Andred’s shoulders.

Narvin stops at one of the databanks, keying in a series of numbers. After several clicking noises, the machine spits out a glowing, translucent data-stamp.

“This is everything we have on her, from her arrival during the Sontaran incident to now,” he says. “I’m going to oversee the project personally, but I’d like you to manage the ongoing surveillance schedule for our operatives.”

Of the disastrous scenarios Andred considered, this is the only one that hadn’t occurred to him, probably because it was too dreadful to contemplate. Narvin, accessing every last record on his marriage to Leela, scouring every scrap of public data, overseeing and processing new surveillance. Sitting dispassionately at his desk as he watches her distress, and anger, and maybe even mourning; Andred can practically hear his clucks of judgment and disapproval.

“Just surveillance, Coordinator?” Andred says.

“For now,” Narvin replies, plucking the data-stamp from the row of humming machines.

So much is implied in what Narvin doesn’t say, Andred's imagination fills in the void with the worst possible options, and the weight of them shatters the ice in Andred’s spine. It splinters into his organs so he feels like he’s leaking internally. Before he can think, he steps behind the other man, wrapping him in a restraining embrace and resting his lips against the spot where his shoulder meets his neck.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Narvin says, shrugging and twisting his head.

This distraction technique worked with Leela sometimes, when Andred put a foot wrong and made her angry, and it’s the only thing he can think to do now. He plants quick kisses at the base of Narvin’s skull, and then his jaw, and his cheek. He takes his earlobe between his teeth and nibbles, a diversion as he simultaneously eases the data-stamp from his fingertips.

“There’s something about you when you’re like this,” Andred huffs into the warm spot beneath his ear, Narvin’s pulse thumping against his lips. As he folds the data-stamp into his fist, he grinds his hips against the other man’s arse, tightening his embrace. “Protecting the Agency. Protecting Gallifrey.” 

The Coordinator stands stiff and still for an eternal second, and dread pools in Andred’s stomach. His act wasn’t enough, he’s given himself away.

Narvin shrugs again, and this time Andred loosens his embrace. He turns to face him, studying his expression before he lifts an eyebrow and reaches up to trace a thumb across Andred’s lips. Without breaking eye contact, Andred takes the digit into his mouth with another soft sound, this one closer to a moan. He sucks at it just so, tongue working, a distraction while his other hand slips the data stamp into his trouser pocket.

Narvin’s other hand cradles the back of his head for a moment, encouraging him as he draws the thumb in all the way to its base and then eases back off, lapping hungrily at the whorls of his fingerprint. Approval glitters in Narvin’s eyes and his hand shifts to the longer hair at his crown, gripping so tightly it’s almost painful, holding him still as he sinks the digit all the way in again.

Andred doesn’t flinch or look away. Only a handful of days in Torvald’s life, and he’s learned that Narvin likes to be in control, and he’s particularly fascinated by this new, thick head of hair on his second-in-command’s body. When Andred’s on his knees, he uses this handhold like a carriage-driver holding the reins, guiding his speed and direction.

When he pulls his thumb from Andred’s mouth, it makes a wet popping noise. Andred doesn’t try to regulate his breathing – panic or arousal, what does it matter at this point?

“This is deeply unprofessional, Commander,” Narvin murmurs, his attention fixated on the other man’s damp lips.

“Allow me to spearhead this surveillance mission,” Andred says breathily. “I’m the one who made her a widow; I’d like to see this project through to the end.”

A subtle shift occurs in Narvin’s expression, concern creeping into his arousal. “That’s a bit ghoulish, isn’t it? I won’t sanction some sort of vendetta, Torvald.”

Andred misjudged – he played his hand too far.

“No, of course not, it isn’t that. You have more than enough on your plate already, protecting Gallifrey, and it’s only fair I deal with the fallout of the situation I created.” He wants Narvin as distracted as possible, not thinking straight, and so he rests his hands on his hips and leans forward, brushing the tips of their noses together and letting his tongue trace the other man’s bottom lip. “Call it a fulfillment of duty. I’d be grateful.”

Narvin’s grip on his hair tightens again, and Andred softens his knees just enough to ease down a centimeter, like a promise. “You’d be grateful? In the data archives?”

“I know how careful you are, which means you secured the room when we came in to discuss this sensitive topic. Allow me show you how very careful I can be, too.” A lick of his mouth and a whisper, “Please, sir.”

In spite of Narvin’s outward composure, his eyes betray how aroused he is. He is also excruciatingly professional, and after a nanospan’s indecision he clears his throat and steps away, fists clenching as he gathers himself.

“All right, Torvald, this entire surveillance mission is on your plate,” he says, a little hoarse as his cheeks turn pink. He runs the most influential agency on all of Gallifrey, he’s long been a symbol of all that’s wrong with insular Gallifreyan politics, and yet in this moment he isn’t intimidating at all. The data-stamp is in Andred’s pocket, the Coordinator seems flustered, and it occurs to Andred that perhaps this undercover situation won’t be so impossible after all.

No one would ever accuse Narvin of being soft, but given the proper stimulus, he’s certainly more pliant than expected. “Thank you, sir.”

“Keep me informed if we need to consider any measures beyond surveillance.” He pauses, hands unfolding and brushing absently down his thighs as his attention lingers on Andred’s disheveled hair. “But don’t let the project distract you. I expect you to keep regular office hours tonight, and be home at a reasonable hour.”

“I appreciate your concern, sir. I’ll be home at the regular time.”

“Good.” Narvin clears his throat, and if Andred didn’t know better, he’d think the other man was feeling unsure of himself – but he’s never seen Narvin act diffident before. “Good. I’ll leave you to your work.” And with that, he strides out of the data archives and Andred is alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt - "Heartfelt kisses given in return for a gift"  
> Set two months after Andred's regeneration

Wearing only a bedsheet, Andred tucks his hand behind his head as he watches Narvin get dressed in the half-darkness. After the evening’s exertion, Narvin disappeared into the lavatory for his usual clean-up. He left the light on when he emerged, casting bubble-shaped shadows across Torvald’s bedroom, which is chock full of neon colored, round-edged furniture made out of the synthetic material Leela hates. It’s nothing like Andred’s bedroom in the chancellery guard housing unit, bedecked with Outsider furs and trinkets.

“I expect the report for Agent Mollpax’s last mission on my desk when I arrive in the morning,” Narvin says as he pulls on his trousers. Andred has been living Torvald’s life and fucking Torvald’s boss for almost two months, and this is the only sort of post-coital chat he ever gets. He doesn’t want Narvin whispering sweet nothings in his ear, but he’s starting to crave an ‘attaboy’ or ‘jolly good show on the blow job, Commander.’

“Yes, sir, I’ll have it ready,” Andred replies, stifling a yawn. Mollpax arrived only a few hours ago; he’ll have to get up early to debrief her, to meet Narvin’s deadline.

He pulls his undershirt over his head, muffling his next few words: “I’ve been thinking over the request you made last week, about the personnel files.”

Andred resists the urge to sit bolt upright, staying in his relaxed position as he listens. He’d brought up the specter of a mole working within the CIA, a ploy to get Narvin to raise Torvald’s classification clearance so he could conduct an ‘investigation,’ while really furthering his own personal research into the CIA’s xenophobic agenda, and finding who might be spearheading the ideological movement from within.

At this point, so long into living this other man’s life, and Andred has turned up nothing at all. It’s almost as if he was wrong and made a mistake, the most terrible mistake in all his lives, and has ruined his career and his marriage for nothing.

His voice cracks a little when he says, “And?”

Narvin hardly spares him a glance, shaking the nonexistent wrinkles from his robe before he pulls it on one arm and then the other. “I did some digging of my own, and couldn’t find anything. But if you say there’s something to keep an eye on, I trust you. I’m raising your clearance to alpha plus, and giving you full access to everyone’s biodata extracts and personnel files. You have two weeks to chase this thing down.”

Finally, unfettered access to all the information he could possibly need to finish his investigation and bring down the CIA for good! For a jubilant moment he forgets himself, forgets the role he’s playing. He’s up in a flash, kneeling on the edge of the mattress and yanking Narvin into an embrace.

“Thank you,” he gasps as Narvin stumbles and practically falls into his arms, pliant with shock. He crashes their mouths together, lips open and eager. After a beat of surprise, Narvin kisses him in return. He can feel the other man’s grin against his mouth. The hand that had grasped his shoulder for balance shifts down, trailing across his chest and to his waist, so his thumb digs aggressively into Andred’s hipbone.

Andred pulls away, clearing his throat and licking the moisture from his lips. “Apologies, sir.”

“Your devotion to the Agency and its security is duly noted,” Narvin replies huskily, his pupils dilated as he surveys Andred’s face. Andred doesn’t have to look down to know that he’s straining at the trousers he just put on. “I’ll make a note of it in your file.”

His exuberance only slightly diminished, still giddy that there might be light visible at the end of this CIA tunnel, he decides to put this newfound energy to good use. With only a little concentration and a deliberate shift in his vascular system, Andred puts his desire on full display, mirroring the Coordinator’s arousal.

“I want the CIA to be the best of Gallifrey,” he murmurs, plucking Narvin’s hand from his hip and guiding it to his cock. “Only the two of us truly understand the importance of what we’re doing.”

Narvin’s teeth press into his bottom lip and he maintains deliberate eye contact. Instead of stroking, he squeezes hard, the sensation half pleasure and half pain. Andred rocks his hips forward anyway and kisses him again, pushing the robe off his shoulders.

“Fuck.” The word is so quiet, such a muted concession, Andred hardly understands when Narvin exhales it into his mouth.

“That’s the general idea,” he replies between kisses, unhooking the clasp on Narvin's trousers. “Sir.”


End file.
